L8r G8r

My friends, I think we all knew that this was coming: Yourself Cared is going on an indefinite, probably permanent, hiatus. I haven't been feelin' it lately, and I don't want to force myself to maintain a hobby that isn't fun anymore. The website will stay up as an archive, and I'll still be reading your blogs!

If you want to keep up with me, I'm building a personal portfolio website that I plan to use as a publishing platform, and I will continue to informally create and collect on Tumblr. I would also welcome Facebook requests from any of you. Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it!

Diamond Pavement

I saw this beautiful pattern on the ground the other day while walking the dog.

Wicked Games

Currently obsessed with "Wicked Games" by The Weeknd. "Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame." It's worrisome how much that line resonates with me.



Speaking of hip hop, last night I took my sister to a "Drake vs Lil Wayne" concert. It was loud and boisterous and fairly enjoyable. Dancin' and yelling hard. But before the #TurnUp vibe started building, I jotted down a few notes. (We were waiting for the opener, YG.)

Anticipation tinged with boredom. The venue speakers are slapping rap tunes and everyone's on their phone, takin' selfies and texting. Okay, maybe it's just me. There's plenty of staring around and laughing groups. I'm here with my little sister, who went off to take a picture with some school friends in cheaper seats. I shelled out for our tickets.

I was gonna take my ex-boyfriend. I spent hundreds on these seats because I meant it to be a special birthday treat, a demonstration of my affection. Then he dumped me. So I told Destiny, "Fuck it, I'm taking you instead." She was thrilled.

Oakland Shadows

After an exhibit at SideQuest Gallery, wandering around with my friend, taking too many snapshots on my phone. I really love this shadow-portrait:



And this shark sticker with the glimpse of my friend's red button-down shirt:



And these splotchy white ghosts:



And this face on the back of a traffic sign:



That's all. Good night.

Speechtime Continuum

[The following was excised from an essay for my linguistic anthropology class. It didn't serve the piece as a whole, but I still like the passage. ~omg academia~]

// Valery Kenski //

It is difficult to document the time of a conversation. Not the duration of the encounter or the date when it took place, but the spatial sense of time, the temporal context of a relationship that must extend infinitely forward and backward from the moment at hand. This aspect of an interaction tends to remain unvoiced, but it is vital.

Every "linguistic encounter" is framed by expectation and then interpretation, though they may be informal, brief, or even unconscious. The human mind loves to create narratives, to find patterns that will constitute stories, so we parse our lives in terms of these devices.

// Alan Turkus //

I've Got Friends On The Other Side

A romantic relationship is not just "friendship + sex". Those may be the parts, but the sum is greater. Of course, not all romances involve sex, and it's easy to be physically intimate without being sexual. The key is something else--something ineffable. And glorious.

My romantic tastes are pretty traditional. I mostly date men, and I'll admit that I'm drawn to the burly lumberjack type. (See also: beard swooning.) I tend toward monogamy. I like terms of endearment. The Princess and the Frog is one of my favorite movies.

That seems to be all I have to say about romance, so here are two great Fem!Faciliers (the villain from TPatF):

// ArtNerdEm //

// chissyrulez94 //

Define Gender Essentialism

// Gender Abolition by Kristofher Muñoz //

Gender essentialism is the mainstream practice of saying, "these body parts are male" or "these body parts are female", and drawing similar conclusions about various behaviors. It's an attempt to make sense of bodies and identities by putting people into simple categories, based on observable traits. The rigid rubric of gender essentialism remains the dominant way of interpreting people's identities, and it gives rise to misogyny and transphobia.

// Neon Gender Source Material F by Carolyn Speranza //

The question is, "What does make me a woman if it's not my body or my behavior?" I don't have an answer, but I'm working to accept life's ambiguity. Maybe clarity will come with time, but it might not. That's okay. Not knowing all the answers is normal.

// sisters abroad by torbakhopper //

Single September Breakfast

peanut-butter toast in my fist
glob of jelly on my palm
lick it off, wet kiss
the crust's crunching in my teeth

headache for breakfast
I should have
a glass of water
I should
drink something

baby did I tell you,
I get nightmares.
will I be alone.
I can't miss a chance

[The punctuation-play is intentional. Proud of myself.]

Party Poem

Are you up for it?
Are you really--
Are you really up?

are you really
are you really coming
are you, are you
coming with

"Party Poem" is more grammatically experimental than I'm usually comfortable with, but whatever. Definitely inspired by Daveed Diggs.

// Martin Fisch //

// deep space - cielo nyc by sookie //

// Danielle Scott //

Human (Debatable)

// exoimperator //

This picture reminds me of that song by the Killers: "Are we human, or are we dancer? My sign is vital; my hands are cold. And I'm on my knees, looking for the answer. Are we human, or are we dancer?" The lyrics never answer their question, and the music video is mysteriously try-hard avant-garde. So basically, it's unresolved whether we're Human or Dancer. Wait, is one of Santa's reindeer named Human?

Family-Inspired Self-Censorship

// Incomplete, Unstable by Kevan //

I want to write about sensitive sociocultural issues, and I'm struggling to figure out how to share my work without upsetting my mother. She worries that if I publish content regarding semi-taboo topics, it will endanger future opportunities. I'll knock on the door, they'll open it to glance at me, and then slam the door shut again. A potential employer might Google my name and be repulsed by what they find, for who-knows-what reason. It could definitely happen.

I don't want to limit my future more than necessary. A certain amount of limiting happens naturally and is unavoidable--for example, I'm unlikely to be a scientist, because of my personality and my academic choices. That's okay. However, someday I might want to work with a religious organization, or a school. I can always scoff, "I don't want to collaborate with close-minded people anyway!" But... I'm hesitant to declare that. Never say never, right?

On the other hand, I have an irrepressible need to express my thoughts and share them. It's compulsive, even imperative. I'm not me if I'm not writing and offering myself to readers.

My mom also worries that a preoccupation with "sordid" topics, especially aberrant sexuality, indicates that I'm falling back into depression. I go back and forth about it.

What I do know is that I want to feel free to tackle difficult subjects, and use "four-letter words", and engage in textual analysis of myself and my peers. I want my writing to be uninhibited by the last generation's mores.

It's funny; the poem that sparked this post isn't even slightly salacious:

swollen bug-bite
fat bottom third of my index finger
sore lump, red pinprick
fucking monsters in my bed

I was just worried about the profanity. I feel like "the F-word" needs to be in the poem, not that this poem is particularly essential, but swearing was necessary for the punchy finish I craved.

I don't know.

// Alexander Lyubavin //

Gettin That Guac

I'm really into clipping right now. Yeah, this noisy glitch-rap trio is too cool to capitalize their name. Definitely not-safe-for-work music. Definitely brilliant. On the track above, "bout.that", lyricist Daveed Diggs chants, "All green errything; gettin' that guac. All clean errything; swag on lock."

Aaand that's all I got for now. I'm too busy to be a good blogger, I guess. Got some zines in the works, so stay tuned for that, 'kay?